


Let the Chips Fall

by helena_s_renn



Series: Play the Game [2]
Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: BDSM Scene, Blood, Bondage, Cutting, Exhibitionism, Future Fic, Knifeplay, M/M, Objectification, Oral Sex, Sex for Favors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 20:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chad is one of Jared's boys, but he's a lot more than that. He helps Jared with his occasional need to be taken down, way down. The upcoming possible arrangement with Jensen provokes some strong damn needs...<br/>Note: the J2 is in reference, and then a brief moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the Chips Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Don't read this shit if you find it upsetting or triggery.  
> Also: Stereotypical Chad; bottom!Jared, sorta; medical terminology. No penetrative sex.  
> Timeframe: February, 2017  
> Beta by ChristianHowe.

These people were insane with their 6:00 a.m. calls. Whatever; work was work. Chad stood in his chilly kitchen, shifting from foot to foot as his single-serving coffee maker spit out the last few rich drops and a cloud of steam. Unexpectedly, the mobile phone sitting on the counter lit up and vibrated, overloud, against the pale gray marble. What the hell? They shouldn't be picking him up for 20 minutes yet.

Tilting his head to look at the blue glowing LED display, Chad raised his eyebrows once. The sand in the corners of his eyes tugged at his lashes. This oughta be interesting.

“Jay-rad,” he sing-songed in greeting. “Long time, no fuckee. Me love you longtime,” he paused to make kissing noises. “What the fuck are you doing up at the buttcrack of dawn?”

“How's Paris?” Always with the reference. Always.

“Fuck you, Padalecki. You _and_ your enormous schlong.” Jared hadn't been referring to the city in France, or even Texas. For Christsake, that was years and years ago. Some people just couldn't let sleeping dogs lie. Speaking of...

“Yeah, well, fuck you, too. Still saving your ass-cherry, Murray? Maybe I'll let you fu--”

Chad let out a complex snort. What they had agreed upon didn't include that. It never would again. “Dude. Just don't. So anyway, how's Jensen, the old queen?”

That shut him up, but not for long. No, there was always an agenda. Lucky for Jared, Chad didn't mind agendas. He didn't mind money, either.

“Shut up, you whore.” Affection entwined in with the warning. “You up for it?”

“I'm always up for it, you know that.” Chad blew across the surface of the coffee, juggling it and the phone on the way back to his bedroom. “When and where? Has to be after 7:00PM tomorrow, or else not till after the weekend.”

As Chad knew he would, Jared quickly returned, “Let's say next Wednesday, then. My place. Call me when you're ready.”

“Looking forward to it.” In that, Chad was 100 percent sincere.

*/*/*/*

Whenever Jared felt the urge to be disciplined for his contravention, he went to Chad. Had, in fact, tracked him down in New York, Prague, Oslo, hell, even in LA when Jared wasn’t supposed to be there. Now, in late winter, after the extended gala atmosphere and pressure of the holidays, work brought Chad back to LA. Fate had once again brought the mountain to Mohammed.

Neither actually believed in sin or punishment for it, from a spiritual perspective. Early on, they’d stumbled into an accidentally serendipitous scene involving a riding crop, an empty barn, and Jared’s bare ass. The man had always had some weird fascination with his own booty. Since, the power of pain and submission as a way to find balance drew Jared back again and again. It didn't have to happen frequently, nor did it: once a year, maybe biannually. When called upon, Chad could, and would, do those things to him and for him, because it was Chad’s personal conviction that to refuse such an obvious need would be crueler than any caning or a week in a cock ring.

This, though. It was going to be rough. Times like this, Chad left the coked-up, aging neophyte bit outside the door. Summoned, preliminaries out of the way, he contemplated the gleaming, near surgically sharp hunting knife Jared had just handed him. Outfitted with an ugly wrapped-bone handle, a 12-inch serrated blade covered in runes... He knew what it was, what it meant, where it came from. The demon-killing knife. Yep, Jared had made off with it.

“Hm. Never took you for a cutter.” He'd said it before, years ago; now like then, Jared just shrugged. Chad still accepted the knife, testing the edge against the pad of his thumb. He could just as easily have shaved off the first layer of his thumbprint or severed an arm with it.

“Nah, not as a regular thing,” Jared told him, flicking his eyes sideways at Chad, away, then turning his head and holding his gaze. “You’re a deft hand. With a crop, for example. Always know how hard to swing to be most effective.”

Chad accepted the compliment as his due, with an easy nod. When they were in a scene, he was a different animal, controlled and steady. “This is different. Way more precise.”

“Yeah, man.” Without looking, Chad could tell that Jared was hard in anticipation. His stance said so, his nearness, the throb of his voice; hell, the air reeked of his pheromones.

“Where?” The ritualistic word fell into place, another brick in a wall that would never be finished, doomed to crumble. He needed to know: ‘where’ on Jared’s body. 

“I want you to score my balls. Shaved ‘em bald for you. Cut three, four lines on each.”

Broiling lust, barely contained, jolted down Chad’s body and stiffened his cock. The man was insane, but it was so fucking hot. “Is this about Jensen?” If Jared said yes, it would be nothing new.

The next sound, a groan, served as confession.

“Really, Jared? Again?”

More groans poured forth. “Maybe. Okay, yes. His... wife. Remember the last time she was knocked up, and I goaded him into that performance at the Teen Choice Awards? She left him, ‘cause of it. Temporarily, of course.” No contrition mellowed his voice – an edge of glee lurked there, maybe more-so since Jared was fully aware that she was Chad’s friend, too. He walked a fine line, and he knew it.

“You’re a shitty bastard,” Chad told him. “’Specially since you went and pulled a repeat shortly there-after. The two of you, or make that the four of you, make me sick with the preggers belly rubbing - you deserve each other.” 

A statement like that, slathered in douche-troll unctuousness or not, was meant to provoke. Chad plowed on, moving closer, "But that's been at least a couple of years. What did you do now?"

"I didn't. He's thinking seriously about being my next..."

"Oh, god, no," Chad bitched. 

"Why?" 

"Because if you start with him,” by the self-satisfied look on Jared’s face, there were no ‘ifs’ about it, “okay, once you start with him, you won't be able to control--"

"Chad..." 

"--yourself, or him--”

“Chad!”

“What?”

“What is your fucking problem?” 

Chad shook his head, and pointed the knife at Jared. “Mark my words, man. It might start out all fine. A few scenes, some money changing hands. But this is...” Stupid. Totally fucking stupid. “You’re gonna lose control of it.” 

“You think I haven’t considered that?” Jared countered. “Well, I have. I’m not that selfish. There’s a lot more at stake than my ego.” His voice softened, a little. “C’mon. I won’t... we’ll still have this. I need you, too.” 

That wasn’t it. As for Chad himself, there’d been a time he’d wanted Jared, a decade ago. Which was weird, since Chad was about as hetero as they came – and he did, often and loudly - but the guy could turn anyone. Those days of intense sex, complications and disappearances, frantic seeking and eventual letdown were long past. These little ongoing distractions, Chad supposed, amounted to a favor for a friend. They both had their roles, their parts. And if, one day, he got tired of being the glorified proxy – no illusions there – the truth was, he'd lose just as much, and not just tax-free income. Well, mostly. Until Jared claimed the cornerstone, Chad's services would do.

But there was no convincing Jared, so Chad didn't bother to try further. No man wanted his own Achilles' heel shoved in his face. 

In fixing his attention to the hazel-green-blue, ever-changing eyes, reading the vibe, Chad had nicked his thumb. Another man might have flinched. Instead, he simply slid it into his mouth, letting Jared see him curl his tongue around it before he sealed his lips around the joint. When he finished nursing the wound, he let his voice fling out like a swath of dark raw silk. “Alright. I’ll indulge you. You’ll be lucky if I don’t castrate you, though. One slip and...” he let the blade with its smeary line of blood glint at Jared.

The man paled under his tan, but only a shade or two. They moved to the corner room of the lower level. A special chair of black leather and chrome, Jared’s own design, which in Chad's opinion looked like the setting of a nightmare-ish cross between a root canal and a pap smear, had been readied. Of course it had. Because Jared always got what Jared wanted. He dropped his clothes, showing nothing in the movements but a jittery confidence and anticipation. Sure enough: hard and proud, his cock jutted nearly upright. Below, the twin sac hung denuded and plump, already tightened.

Chad pursed his lips. Bastard. Jared might start out all calm and smug but he would be piss-scared within a minute or two, when the real action started. Chad would see to that.

Though he probably wouldn’t have moved enough for any inadvertent real damage, Jared insisted on being restrained. Chest, wrists, ankles, waist, biceps, thighs. The chair came equipped with 2” straps of Velcro for speedy service. All through the process, as his arms and legs and last his core were secured, Jared lay back against the chair, passive, skin dry and hot. It took no time; Chad blinked in surprise to find himself seated on a low stool between Jared’s bound legs. Grinning evilly, just playful-evil but still, he adjusted the stirrups into an obtuse angle, till the tense inner thigh muscles to each side of his head pulled to painful stretches. With the shaved sac in one hand, Chad brandished the preposterously long-bladed knife with the other. Jared's pupils expanded to nearly overflow his irises, but not quite. He muffled a whimper and was quiet.

Because Chad was kind of fanboy-ing Karl Urban that week, he slipped into Bones mode. Would Bones be able to do this? _“I’m a doctor, not a sadist!” “I’m a doctor, not a veterinarian!” “I'm a doctor, not a butcher!”_ Was it a de-boning knife he held? No, too hefty, but not so much different.

Yes, Bones and Chad could handle it. Faint white scars amongst the rugae proved it.

“This is it,” he announced. “Crazy fucker wants his nutsack sliced, he gets what he wants.” The long, steadying breath he blew out effervesced through all the dark hairs beside and before him. Shaved balls, perineum, and pink little hole stared back; Jared hadn't touched the hair on his legs, and had neatly man-scaped but not buzzed off his pubes. "Aw, you’re all well-groomed for me," Chad laughed. “How thoughtful.” Actually, he felt a little too affectionate over it.

With Jared's permission, Chad might as well be Dr. Murray, gyno extraordinaire, but this was no woman. Jared’s stupidly long, muscled legs, bent at their knobby knees, spread around him, restrained, straining. Everything was laid out for him. Tan, perfect. Torso like an underwear model. Hip indents to cut glass. That delicate little navel, set low and shallow amidst gentle dunes. Cock twitching, filling, from the graceless handling of his balls, which Chad grabbed abruptly for the satisfaction of making Jared jerk against his Velcro bands, and seeing those round biceps the size of grapefruits stand up. All so tempting, even now. He wanted to bite. Leave marks. He wanted to take his cock out and cum all over his sub. But he’d keep it in his pants and deal out the pain Jared required.

With some caution, Chad probed for the spermatic cords. These, he’d stay away from. Gathering the loose skin toward the back, he gradually smoothed the wrinkled skin till the egg shapes inside were more pronounced and the skin, shiny. All the knife-waving had been for show – he found Bactine and a scalpel still in the packet on the metal shelf that pulled out from under the seat. Gloves, too, and bandages. A couple of condoms, and lube, which he rolled his eyes at. There was also a suturing kit. That, he shoved to the back of his mind.

Though it meant giving up his perfect workspace and starting over, he supposed he’d better. In his own headspace, Jared made a complaining noise when Chad removed his hands.

“Patience,” Chad told him.

Half-standing, he whipped the knife through the air above Jared's belly. That got his attention. A hiss of indrawn breath accompanied the sucking-in of his abs. Chad made a derisive noise in his throat, shoving the demon knife in Jared's restrained hand. The cords and veins shifted and rose as he gripped it tightly.

Chad had to wait another moment; his hands were starting to dampen with nervous excitement as well as the sweat from Jared’s balls. Once they air-dried, he coated Jared’s skin with the antibiotic spray and snapped on gloves. He separated the two halves of sterilized paper wrapping on the wicked, gleaming scalpel, not the easiest in gloves. Stupid Jared, and his extreme demands. He itched to rip with his teeth, like a condom packet. At last his fumbling yielded the right grip.

“Okay.” The next few seconds dragged on forever. Raising his left hand, Chad cradled the shaved scrotum, which tightened around the glands inside when he touched. He had to swallow a mouthful of drool and tell himself again this wasn’t the old days, wasn't the first time, then Chad raised the surgical blade, and his eyes. Clearly, Jared was stoned on the lead-up, stone-hard, and glassy-eyed. 

Chad took another deep breath in, let it out, and again. In his hand, he held that which was so important to most men, that which made them men. For sure, Chad thought to himself, no one was getting near _his_ stones with anything sharp and pointy. But speaking of which, he had a job to do. He gave the smallest of nods. “Alright, start talking.”

Jared's voice yodeled, impatient. “C'mon, cut me. You know I need this.”

“Sure. Now tell me why.” Maybe Jared held the power as in money, but Chad wielded his own in moments like these. It was true that his reputation of douche-baggery preceded him. Chad found it a useful tool in the study of human behavior. He cultivated it, and it worked well for him. Jared saw through him, he saw through Jared, and that's why they'd had this one thing, all these years. He'd be a little sad to lose it. But hey. Being a little more jaded wouldn't make a hell of a lot of difference.

“'Cuz. Being marked as what you are is important.”

“Which is...?” Chad let his question trail out.

Jared didn't answer, so Chad did it for him. “A liar."

Acknowledgment, a grunt. The edge of the scalpel was finer than any razor blade, less than a hair, especially the near-black hair follicles he’d try to avoid. Inspecting the pulled-taut surface, Chad rotated his wrist less than ten degrees till he spotted a place: a centimeter long between the roots of hair, perpendicular to the rugae. Jared had to know it could be any second, and he held himself still as much as the bonds did.

The slice was a quick wrist-flick and silent, the length of Chad’s thumbnail. There was that moment of shock, then blood welled out and Jared jerked again and Chad blinked the sweat from his eyes. The cut wasn’t deep, just enough to bring forth a few lazy ruby-red drops.

“Thank you,” whispered Jared.

“Just getting started.”

“Another... the other side,” Jared murmured, tossing his hair sideways. His face shone with fervor and sweat.

“Patience, bitch,” Chad repeated, lower. “I will. I’ve got you. What else?” Waiting, Chad forced his eyes down and found another bit of skin opposite the first incision. Light flashed off the stainless steel blade and the second cut separated a further layer of skin. “Your blood’s on my hands now,” Chad reflected quietly. It was the sort of thing that Jared would want to know.

“I can feel my blood, dripping.”

Chad gave his best sarcasm. “You're a very healthy boy. Dark red and thick, full of iron. Lovely color, man.”

“It tickles.”

That... Even one such as Chad had nothing much beyond a startled, choked-off bark of laughter as a come-back. “It's warm. Gonna smear my gloves. Oh – the first drop just fell. Crimson dot on this harsh, unforgiving rubber-room white floor. Another dot now. Another.”

In response, a soft sigh, a groan when Chad bent forward again. He cut two more short lines in rapid succession near the first two. The glands within his grasping palm and fingers grew denser and heavier, while Jared panted for breath. His massive chest heaved. Clear dribbles smeared from the tip of his rigid cock into his belly button; the muscles of his inner thighs shivered, flexed, then relaxed. “More...”

Fighting the urge to suck the whole sac into his mouth, blood and all, Chad looked for his next marks. These would be the last two. Years ago, they’d agreed: six, Satan’s hashtag, the number of half and incompleteness. Plus, be damned if Chad wanted to be responsible for Jared standing up and having his testicles fall off. Or out. Whatever the fuck.

Congealing stickiness told him he’d better finish soon. Chad had never nicked the skin so high up before. He chose each side of an area that would be hidden by Jared’s cock at rest, the top of the sac where the skin folded away from the smooth, flat surface of the lowest abdominal planes. Because, he murmured in a hushed tone, “You think you deserve this, huh, don't you? Because you're a freak, you should be marked. Not punished, 'cuz your deviant ass likes it too much. And, since you're J.P. Or whatever the fuck. Since mister big shit can afford it. You're... so vain.” He'd made a few pin-hole pricks while he ran his mouth, along the raised center seam, down...

“God please Chad just fucking do it...”

Chad peeled the gloves off, tossed them to the floor with a wet smack, and rose up just enough. The ether of copper, warm leather and male sweat smacked him stupid, made him hover, indecisive, till the next writhe and whine took him to action. He planted one hand on each side of Jared’s lean waist, lowered his head and licked that broad purple, slick-coated crown. Kept his lids lowered – his eyes were too reflective and light, too narrow and squinty, the wrong color. Tried to call attention to his mouth. Its pink was too pale, but the shape nearly lush enough. His light golden skin had no freckle dusting, but working a dick in his mouth, flushed from effort and lack of air, no one could tell.

Jared strained upward so hard the Velcro stretched, till Chad heard the slow ripping sound of a strap starting to tear loose, but in vain. He slanted his eyes up and had to admit: the trembling abdominals in their vulnerability awoke needs he'd never give in to again. The nipples waving at him, hard little points atop muscle, not breasts, so different than his usual taste but so fucking appealing. Jared wasn't waxing his chest these days and the heart-shaped patch on his breastbone looked delicious on him.

“That fat sac of yours is fucking tight. Pulled all up into you like those boys never dropped. Did the knife-work help you, boy?” Leaving his lower lip dribbling against the frenulum, Chad flicked his tongue once into the slit then around the stiff ridge of the flared corona.

Jared's entire body tried to flex. His pelvis could only judder in short arrhythmic jabs, as his answer took the form of his load erupting in multiple violent spurts. Rolled back in his head, his eyes jumped back and forth like he was deep in an REM cycle. “Jensen, goddammit, Jen-Jensen!” he hissed through gritted teeth. Low, pained, his groans resonated through Chad's body.

Somewhere around the second time the name tumbled from Jared's lips, a movement caught Chad's senses. Cat-like, he arched up and met widened green eyes with his teeth bared. Then, thinking better of it, he kept licking, licking salt-slicked skin and cream till his tongue was sore.

“He's all yours now,” Chad said silkily, when he’d had enough. He could give a flying fuck that Jared's newest plaything could see how hard he was, practically lathered over his labor of love and from holding back his animal instincts. About damned time Jensen noticed that Jared wasn't a kid, wasn't his little brother, and that he wasn't exactly undesirable.

Grinning his best nasty-dirty, Chad straightened up and whipped it out. “Your problem, your responsibility. But don't look a gift horse in the mouth, huh? He'll do for stud, for you. I'm just here to jerk it.” It took maybe four or five long pulls till he added his own sticky trails to Jared's cooling mess. 

He hoped Jensen had watched it all, and that it had made him hard. That would embarrass the uptight little fucker, god love him.

One lazy eyebrow lifted, dropped. “Clean him up, huh? Take care of him. He needs you now. Treat him right.” Jensen just stared at Chad like they'd never met before.

...Which was pretty ironic, considering. Less than a minute later, Chad had gone, shoulder-checking Jensen hard on the way past.

 

The check, he knew, would be in the mail.

**Author's Note:**

> The following elements are altered:  
> *The incident at Teen Choice Awards mentioned happened in January, 2013, a couple of years earlier than insinuated.  
> *Jared pulling a repeat happened a month or two ago, as of this writing.


End file.
